Thirteen Nights of Winsol
by Nicole Delray
Summary: Thousands of years have passed since Jaenelle has cleaned the Realms of Dorothea's taint, but malevolence still creeps among the Blood. During Winsol, one young Queen finds herself ensnared in a deadly game of power, greed, and lust. THANKS FOR 200 HITS!
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Prologue

There were so many questions he had wanted to ask over the years, and had finally gotten down to one. He looked over the small breakfast table, watching the dusty light catch in her silvered hair. It was still golden, but lighter, more metallic. Her sapphire eyes were still the same, gems that shifted from light to deep in a breath. She smiled at him over her mug of coffee and roused him from his thoughts. He followed her suit, raising his mug up to his lips but tilting it a little in a salute to her before taking a sip. When he set the mug down, she was looking at him intently.

"What is it Daemon?" She inquired, her voice caressing a softer edge. Daemon had to pause for a moment, to still the rush of blood she had stirred up.

"Have you noticed what has happened among the Blood lately?" He asked, trying to make it seem nonchalant. She wasn't fooled. Her eyes deepened and the room took on a slight chill.

"What do you mean?" Witch asked. Daemon smiled, reassuring her.

"Just that, one of Grizelle's descendents has made her Offering and walked away with a Black Jewel. And there are an, interesting number of natural, and male, Black Widows, one of them being a Birthright Red who could become Black once he's made the Offering. There are more Queens being born, Gizelle's own being a natural Black Widow. There's a lot more power among the Blood." He replied. Jaenelle calmed and rapped her fingers against the smooth ceramic mug.

"I think this was another, unforeseen reaction to the Blood being purged." She said carefully. Daemon snorted, and tried to cover his smile by taking another sip of his coffee. One of the other "unforeseen" repercussions to Dorothea's taint being cleansed from the Blood was an extended life, for Jaenelle. Saetan, Lucivar and his family, and Daemon were all apart of the long-lived races, but Jaenelle was not. And yet here she was, close to celebrating her five hundredth birthday, again.

However, this meant that the triangle of the Dark Court was the only part to survive. All of the boyos and the coven, even the Kindred, were long since reunited with the Darkness.

"I just worry, about the, desires of this new Blood." Daemon stated just as carefully. Jaenelle nodded and tried to look somber as she drank from her cup, but sometimes her actions made her look smaller, and younger, than she really was. Daemon rose from the table and walked around to her seat, trailing his fingers over the table top. Jaenelle watched his hand till he stopped right in front of her. She then turned her gaze on him and Daemon felt his heart jump at the sheer intensity of her gaze.

"Perhaps I will speak to Lorn, later." She added and smiled at Daemon. He took her hand in his and shared the same smile before kissing her knuckles lightly.

"Of course. Later." He replied.

Chapter I

1/ Kaeleer

Many creatures, long, long ago, had felt the change in the earth. Had felt the shift as the Dragon's laid down their rights to a mysterious power. But they were not the only creatures who felt the need to adapt, either with greed for the Dragons' power, or for fear of the unknown Darkness. They changed their shape and gave way for the new leaders on the earth. But the transition was hard, the first generations finding it impossible to cope with caging their previous self within such a fragile body. And most of those that survived were cleaned out by these new leaders, the so-called Blood. The rest went into hiding, but loneliness and desperation snuffed out their life's light, all eventually going into the Darkness.

Except for Rhys.

He had adapted better, caging his Ancestors' spirit within the soft cage with a forced ease, a practice that was easier to maintain after thousands of years. He had heard the Blood, reacted to them, mirrored them. He learned that he had spent his earlier years in a place called the Twisted Kingdom, the place that was both clear and opaque at the same time. He had stumbled in easily, but had managed to walk out with the help of small, golden spiders. He realized the luck that had been with him when he had made it out in one piece.

There were other things he learned while he was walking, about Weaving and of beings called Black Widows. He was not a natural, his sometimes clawed hands being deadly but not poisonous. He had studied these, Black Widows, and now wore a small ring that hooked above the second joint of his ring finger on his right hand. It came to a point, but the end was like a hollow needle, the poison held in the clear "gem" on the top of his ring being held in reserve. He could poison and Weave Dreams, and he had Dreamed indeed.

He had seen Witch, the Queen of the Dark Court. She was one of his Dreams, one his heart yearned for, but she was not what he thought of at first breath at dawn or at last breath when he fell into sleep. That Dream had yet to be, no matter what he wove. He had felt the sickness among the Blood and the one, terrifying moment where that sickness was purged. He had been with the spiders then, and they had hidden him well from the rocking power of darker-than-Black.

It wasn't until Witch was old and retired that Rhys walked the land again. He traveled more, met kinsmen that weren't, and learned of the Offering. When he walked away from that ordeal, he wore the Black. It was then, realizing that he looked more like the Blood than he thought, and with more than enough power to defend himself without letting his inner beast out, and threatening to shred his body in the process, he felt confident enough to join the Blood, and try to keep some of his people alive.

Going into Kaeleer had been interesting. He looked at Blood cities with interested eyes, instead of the eyes of a wary hunter, he was not looking for bad signs or shelter, he was looking for a den. The people were nice and smelled clean, except for a few. But his pointed ears and the feline set of his jaw and nose, the small set of fangs and silver eyes kept them away while drawing the clean and nice ones closer.

And then there were the Kindred. The ones who were Blood without being Blood. They fascinated Rhys more than the Blood with their Protocol and their courts. The Kindred were like him, accepting Draca's gift and blending easily with most of the Blood while retaining their natural shape. Rhys grieved for his Ancestors, but was proud to be apart of the Blood and moved on. He finally came to Dhemlan and felt the power in his blood sing with the land, there was power here.

And so Rhys picked his new den and waited, knowing that the Blood that sang to his Blood would greet him and perhaps, show him the Dream Rhys had been waiting for.

2/ Dhemlan

Daemon walked down the streets of the sprawling market square, enjoying the colors of the festival more than the actual celebration going on around him. As he had gotten older, Daemon became more and more like his father, the High Lord of Hell, while still rubbing against the honed edge of his darker side. He liked the feeling of being old, and the respect that came unbidden with it. People, more accurately, the Province Queens, had started giving him more patience and would wait longer than normal for his replies to their inquiries or innocent attempts at demands.

It was nice to be old.

But it was another thing tacked onto Daemon's veneer that wasn't quite accurate. With the extended life Jaenelle had received, the others were able to retain their youthful vigor. Lucivar still instilled fear in the younger Eyrien warriors and Marian could still clean the eyrie from top to bottom in less than a day. Daemon was no less the deadly blade he was over three thousand years ago. Although the stories of the Sadist had faded, he could still strike terror into the hearts of those who crossed him.

But walking down the streets, he was just the kindly Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. Daemon smiled but stopped in mid-stride, frozen.

As Blood sang to Blood, the other male perked up and looked directly at Daemon. There was a moment of tension as each male tried to size the other up. The other male broke first and bowed low in submission. Daemon moved quickly through the crowd, flowing with a feline's grace through the crowd. He was on the other man in a second.

"Who are you?" He growled sharply.

"My name is Rhys Genua." The other man said, his voice accented from a land Daemon couldn't place.

"What are you?" Daemon left off the rest of his question, finding the one he voiced to be more accurate. Rhys kept his face still but shrugged lethargically.

"I cannot remember any more. My dam died many, many years ago." Rhys replied evenly. Daemon paused as he listened to the man's voice.

_He talks like the Kindred._ He mulled over silently.

"You wear the Black?" He questioned. Rhys pulled on the simple, silver chain around his neck, making the gem fall out from under his shirt. At least he was smart enough to hide it. Daemon examined the Jewel closer, not moving to touch it.

"Is it still uncut?" He inquired, bewildered. Rhys still kept his face straight and let go of the chain, the glistening Black Jewel thumping against his chest as it dropped.

"I do not practice that Craft and I am not comfortable amongst most Blood." He replied simply enough. The man confused him and Daemon paused, feeling his flare of rage at sensing another Black fade into innocent curiosity. Before he could ask another question, Daemon felt a familiar tug and turned. He saw Jaenelle on the arm of a tall Eyrien male, he talking to her while she stared directly at Daemon. When the male noticed her split attention, he looked around and, upon spotting Daemon, raised an arm and waved enthusiastically.

"Uncle Daemon!" The male shouted. A smirk broke across Jaenelle's face and her cold stare flickered.

**Who is the male?** The Eyrien asked over the Ebon-gray spear thread.

**A friend, I think.** Daemon replied just as the pair walked up to him.

"Ah Jaenelle my love." He said and kissed his wife's cheek. Jaenelle broke away from the Eyrien and embraced her husband.

"Thank you for escorting her around this morning Daemonar." Daemon said. His nephew grinned wildly and scratched the back of his head.

"No problem Uncle. Isabella had to be at the Tavern early this morning any way." Daemonar said.

"We're being rude Daemon." Jaenelle spoke up calmly. Daemon turned and nodded to Rhys.

"Jaenelle, this is Rhys Genua, a Warlord Prince from some unknown place." Daemon said, not refraining from keeping the suspicion out of his voice. He was surprised, then, when Rhys dropped to his knees and laid his hands against the ground.

"My Lady." He whispered. Daemonar and Daemon shared a startled glance, but Jaenelle stayed calm, even offering a small smile.

"Please stand Prince, we are friends here. We are also drawing a lot of attention to ourselves." She said and gestured to the crowd around them. Some of the revelers had stopped and were now whispering behind their richly decorated masks and brightly painted fans. There was now a sizeable amount of space around them and the revelers, as the onlookers were keeping their distance. As Rhys stood, Jaenelle took Daemon's arm and looked fondly at Daemonar.

"Why don't you go on ahead Daemonar? I think I'd like a chance to talk to our new friend." Jaenelle said pleasantly. Daemonar hesitated, looked at Daemon, but nodded and walked off, murmuring a farewell to Rhys.

"Why don't we head back to the house?" Jaenelle offered. She and Daemon turned and started to move back through the crowd, an unspoken invitation for Rhys to follow. He still had enough of his instincts left to read the couple and followed closely behind them. Relying on their psychic scent to guide him in case he got lost.

When they got into the townhouse, Daemon had given polite orders to the doorman while he took Jaenelle's shawl and hung it up on a peg near the door. When the doorman walked away, Jaenelle and Daemon entered a room on the left, leaving Rhys alone in the hall for a moment. The only other way to go was down the rest of the small hallway to the back of the house or up the stairs to the second level. Rhys quickly probed the house and felt five other people in the townhouse other than himself, Jaenelle, and Daemon. The people, including the doorman, ranged from jewels Rose to Green. Securing his confidence, Rhys walked into the room Daemon and Jaenelle had entered.

"Sit down Prince." Daemon said from the sideboard that held various sized bottles. Jaenelle was already sitting in a large, overstuffed armchair, a cup of some steaming liquid in her hands. From the door, Rhys smelled the mint and approved of the tame drink. He moved through the room and sat in a simple armchair positioned in the right corner close to the door.

"Would you like something to drink?" Daemon offered as he poured a brown liquid into a globed glass. Rhys could smell that familiar, spicy smell and shook his head.

"I do not like the liquid fire." Rhys said and blanched. Daemon chuckled and moved to sit on the couch next to his wife.

"Some of them are not so, spicy, but I understand your distaste." Daemon said.

"Now Rhys," Jaenelle started. Rhys sat up, turning his full attention to her.

"Yes my Lady?" He asked. Daemon chuckled again but took a sip of his brandy.

"You can call me Jaenelle Rhys. I told you, we're friends." Jaenelle snapped. Rhys bowed his head.

"Yes La-," He caught himself at Jaenelle's glare. "Jaenelle."

"Now Rhys, I have a question for you. Do you know who the Dea al Mon are?" Jaenelle asked.

"You speak of my ears?" Rhys said and brushed his hand against the side of his head. Jaenelle didn't reply and Rhys went on.

"I am not of the Dea al Mon, nor am I of Tigrelan, or from the Fyreborn Islands. I cannot remember my people, although we must have been all points." He said and held up his oddly shaped hands with a wide grin. Where his nails should have been were just sheathes for claws. But Daemon noticed the fangs in the grin. Jaenelle laughed at Rhys' awkward attempt at humor while Daemon set himself on edge.

"So how old are you?" Jaenelle asked. Rhys paused and Daemon could tell from how the man's silver eyes went dull that he was thinking.

"You know the Lady Draca?" Rhys asked, a little light returning to his eyes. Daemon held his breath as Jaenelle nodded.

"Yes." She answered, her voice oh-so soft.

"I knew her daughter, before she fell." Rhys answered and looked directly into Jaenelle's eyes. For the first time in thousands of years, Daemon saw Jaenelle lean back, confused.

"How?" Was all Jaenelle could ask. Rhys leaned back in the chair and draped his hands over the end of the chair's arms. His claws unsheathed a little and he flexed his fingers, feeling the ligaments in his hands stretch and roll over his knuckles.

"Before, when only the Dragons held the Blood magic, there was earth magic. It touched some of us, giving our people a higher mind over the lower animals. But when Draca shed her scales and the Blood magic was spilt, that earth magic changed. I know that my people were unsure of how to receive Draca's gift. I know that we were unsure of who else had the power and if we could contain it within our animal bodies, especially after we saw the new guardians of the Blood magic. I know my people changed their shape, to look more like the Blood, but it destroyed us.

"I walked the Twisted Kingdom for many years, when I met the Kindred, I felt a little heavier, like I had weight in the world. Then the spiders taught me how to weave, and taught me how to be a Black Widow." Daemon let out the breath he had been holding in a long hiss, but Rhys didn't turn.

"You, _learned_ to be a Black Widow?" Jaenelle clarified. Rhys nodded.

"How?" Daemon asked, bewildered. Rhys held up his right hand and Daemon stared at what he assumed was a very cloudy opal centered on a very oddly shaped ring.

"The poison is in there?" Jaenelle asked. Daemon looked and noted that Jaenelle had rushed from her seat to Rhys' side, who sat upright and held out his hand – claws sheathed – for inspection.

"The point is actually a needle to inject the poison." Rhys clarified, using his other hand to point it out.

"How does the poison get in there?" Jaenelle asked. Rhys dropped his free hand into his lap.

"The ring is attached to my finger. There is a small tube that attracts the poison I ingest up to twice a month and collects it in this container." He answered. Daemon stroked his own finger that hid his snake tooth and did not envy the other man. There was not only a large amount of pain going into the attachment of the ring, but also building up that tolerance to a poison to be able to ingest it twice a month. Daemon shook his head and sat a little straighter.

"But what are you doing here Rhys?" He asked suddenly. Jaenelle, from where she knelt next to Rhys, looked up at her husband, while Rhys looked down at his ringed hand.

"I was waiting for you. I was hoping that you could help me." He said. Daemon and Jaenelle shared a quiet look, years of marriage giving them a better communication system then the psychic threads.

"Help with what?" Daemon asked cautiously. Rhys looked up at him, hope in his eyes.

"Finding my Dream." He replied.


	2. Chapter 2

3/ Hayll

3/ Hayll

Things had changed in the Three Realms. There wasn't anything noticeable, not after three thousand years, but Lizaveta knew her history. She was the first Gray Lady to not wear the gray. The cities had changed, the people had changed, customs and beliefs took on a new form. Terreille was ruled by a Sapphire Queen named Gwen, and oversaw all the territories with the help of Provincial and Territorial Queens, as Blood Law had dictated thousands of years ago. The realm had long since lost its bloodied tie to Dorothea, becoming a true beacon in the Realm of Light.

Dena Nehele was the only one, over the centuries, to hold onto a different kind of independence.

Because of the Great Purge, and the hysterical chaos that resulted from the broken Blood after they found most of their Queens dead, Dena Nehele used a marriage claim to hold Shaldor and the few territories between the two. It held it securely, while the other Realms tried to collect their strength. Even Kaeleer had been hit with the loss of their Black Witch. There still wasn't a Queen for Ebon Askavi.

And now, over three thousand years, no one has bothered the claim Dena Nehele has on Shaldor, nor about the fact that their Queen holds her lands with a law of her own. The Queen of Terreille acknowledge this independence but had the Gray Lady come to court during the autumn months and often put her own Lords or Princes into the court of Dena Nehele. The horrible taint of Dorothea was long gone and the contracts were honored with little or no problems.

Dena Nehele was only apart of Terreille in name.

Lizaveta remembered this as she strode down the massive corridors of the Queen's castle in Hayll. The land around it had returned to its natural glory, there were meadows within the city's limits where the Kindred roamed, but there was still a certain chill of superiority held onto by the stone buildings. Lizaveta bit her lip as she ducked into an alcove, stilling herself to listen into the hall.

She hated coming to court, especially now when she was a powerful, free-floating Queen.

Lizaveta had been born with the Red and her parents had assumed that she would descend past the Gray when she made her Offering, which she did, and had tried to train her to be more like Gwen, for reasons she could not understand. Lizaveta's sister, Alyxandria, was born with the Green and would soon make her Offering, and become the next Gray Lady.

Which left Lizaveta at the mercy of the Queen of Terreille.

She knew how difficult her position was and how difficult it made the relationship between Terreille and Dena Nehele. Lizaveta was a powerful Queen with no court to call her own. She could easily overtake the Queen of Terreille if she managed to gather an army, or could even take over Dena Nehele. So there were few options to handle her with. Lizaveta could be married into Gwen's court, or even to her son Gregory, both to watch over her or to add her power to the court.

There was also exile or a well planned death. And right now, Lizaveta was extremely vulnerable.

"Andy, where are you?" She whispered, feeling the sting of tears as she looked around. She had wandered off with a Warlord's lady, talking about the upcoming Winsol activities, when the lady had been called away and Lizaveta was alone. All of her training screamed at her, knowing this could be a trap, and she had walked calmly back to the main wing that held the housing for the members of the court. But she had lost track of both her older brother Luther, her First Escort, and her long time friend, who was her self proclaimed protector.

**Lizaveta?** The call came on the Opal distaff thread, and Lizaveta instantly calmed.

**Angeline, I'm lost. Please send Andy.** Lizaveta called back. Over the thread, Lizaveta felt the brush against her inner barriers and she opened them. She felt Angeline rifle through her memories, seeing what happened and where she was.

**We're coming.** Angeline told her. Lizaveta sighed her relief, knowing that the emotion washed down the thread. All she felt in return was anxiety and then the communication was cut off. Lizaveta leaned against the back wall of the alcove, suddenly able to think a little about something than the imminent danger she felt. The alcove was big enough to hold a statue but was empty, and, looking down the hall, there were other alcoves dotted along the way.

"Hiding from something?" Lizaveta turned, and, realizing that she had stepped back out into the hall, tried to swallow her terror. A young looking Warlord stood before her, smiling pleasantly.

"Just looking around." She replied, trying to seem nonchalant. The Warlord smiled, still seeming pleasant.

"Can I escort you somewhere Lady?" He inquired. Lizaveta looked at him, trying to get her bearings on him. He was a Warlord, a Hayllian, and wore the Purple Dusk. She could try to brush against him, to see if anything darker sang back to her, but knew that if he was hostile, that could evoke something deadlier.

"My escort is actually on his way here." She replied, giving him a small smile.

"Then let me wait with you. It would be very rude of me to leave a Lady waiting with no one to keep her safe." He said.

"Thank you." She said and then paused. "I'm Lizaveta Ardelia." The Warlord bowed to her and rose with a wider smile.

"A pleasure to finally meet you Lady Ardelia. I've known your brother for quite some time. My name is Stephan Tremont." At the mention of her brother, Lizaveta relaxed and offered him a genuine smile.

"Do you serve in this court Lord Tremont?" She asked. Stephan laughed and turned down the hall that Lizaveta had come from.

"Not officially. My father is a Warlord in the Seventh Circle." He replied. Another thrill of fear whispered through Lizaveta. A potential Sapphire Warlord with a Black-Jeweled Queen as a wife had the ability to move up within the court. Lizaveta flexed her right hand, trying to give herself some comfort.

Before she had to reply, a clatter came from around the corner, where Stephan was facing.

"It looks like your entourage is here." He quipped. Lizaveta took a few steps toward him and peered around the corner. She smiled as she saw three familiar figures rushing toward her.

"Lizzie." Angeline sighed and twitched her dark, membranous wings. Her twin brother rushed forward and stood between Lizaveta and Stephan, his own wings twitch at his sides as he tried to keep them tucked in.

"Warlord." The Eyrien male seethed. Stephan just smiled and bowed politely.

"Prince Yaslana. I'm glad to see Lady Ardelia going into such capable hands." He retorted. The Eyrien snarled and Lizaveta put a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down Andulvar. This is Stephan Tremont. He was just keeping me company." She hissed. Stephan kept his blithe smile and watched Andulvar wrestle with his temper. He was a Warlord Prince and had been riding the Killing Edge since yesterday, it was a tough thing to accomplish.

"I shall take my leave. I hope to see you again Lady Ardelia." Stephan said and bowed. Lizaveta smiled and waved.

"Thank you Lord Tremont." She said as he walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, Andulvar pounced on her.

"Why didn't you call out for help earlier? You shouldn't be alone, especially not now." He snarled. Lizaveta bristled, she didn't need anyone, especially not Andulvar Saetan Yaslana, to remind her that it was her moon's blood.

"Even without Craft, I can handle myself Andulvar." She spat.

"Against a Warlord on the edge after one whiff of you? I doubt it." He retorted. It was a well kept secret that Lizaveta was a Black Widow, a secret weapon during these times, and Andulvar knew about it, yet still dismissed it.

"Isn't this what you've been training me for? Besides, I have a darker Jewel." Lizaveta snapped.

"I train you to defend yourself against a lighter Jeweled Prince at times like this, not a Green Jeweled Warlord when you're at your most vulnerable." Andulvar took a step toward her, his wings outstretched and looking menacing.

"Snarly male." Lizaveta hissed.

"Stubborn she-witch." Andulvar roared. They both silenced then, glaring at each other, when Angeline and Luther started to laugh.

"You both are hilarious." Angeline said. Luther managed to regain his composure and pulled his sister in for a hug.

"Can we go back to gardens? Meredith and Andria are waiting for us." He asked. Lizaveta sighed and nodded her ascent.

"Let's go." She muttered.

Stephan felt his blood pulsing still as he made it back to his quarters. The Seventh Circle part of the housing wings wasn't as grand as the First Circle but still held the grandeur of a larger castle. They were comfortable and lush, a warming place rather than one of prestige and wealth. He hated it.

When he had been walking through the halls, he had been surprised to smell the psychic scent of a Queen on her moon's blood, and a distressed one at that. It had pushed his inner self to the Killing Edge by the time he turned the corner and found the fragile woman standing alone in the hall. And when she had turned, turning her piercing green eyes on him, he had almost reacted. He had wanted her, to feel her under his fingers, to touch her and protect her, the need to serve rushing up from his very depths. But at her fear, Stephan had kept his distance, but he had to have her.

Everyone had heard of Lizaveta Ardelia from Dena Nehele. Even if he hadn't shared a few professors with her older brother, he still would have learned of her. The Black Jeweled Queen that was as much of a threat to her own family as she was to the Queen of Terreille. How convenient would it be then, for Lizaveta to marry a minor Warlord's son, a way to keep her in check and to add her influence to Terreille? And how easy it would be for a dark Jeweled couple to overturn the Sapphire Queen and finally cow the insubordinate territory of Dena Nehele.

He had to have her.

4/ Dhemlan

Jaenelle looked about the room, puzzled by the mark left there. Rhys' scent was imprinted on the room, as he had been a border there for the past few months, despite his flat within the city. However, a more temporary scent was left hanging in the room, one that matched the minor destruction. Anger was apart of the overturned bed, the deep scratches in the walls, and the basic disarray of the desk. The only thing that held the semblance of balance and peace was a small wooden frame that hung a tangled web. Jaenelle picked her way over the debris and fallen books, stepping carefully into the bare spots on the floor. She air walked where she couldn't find footing and finally made it to the desk.

Picking up the wooden frame, Jaenelle smiled at the craftsmanship of the web. Rhys was not a natural Black Widow but had been taught by the best, and had countless millennia for practice and could spin a web as good as a seasoned Black Widow. However, the message was spelled out in threads more suited to the Kindred, speaking in animalistic words and ideas. Danger, lust, and greed rippled through the web while a few webs shone with love and the desire to serve. The male was both tainted and light in the web while the female was a changing variable. Something was going to happen that could end badly, and it was going to happen soon. With her experience with the kindred and the three thousand years she's had in idle practice, Jaenelle tried to look deeper into the web. She found out when and where, and that this was Rhys' business, but not why he had left the room in such a manner, or how they would get about fixing the scenario.

With a sigh, Jaenelle put the frame back on the desk and walked back to the door. She was going to have to find Daemon.

Daemon looked up as he heard his study door open and close, looking into the eyes of his beloved wife. He set down his pen and vanished his papers, giving her his full attention.

"What can I do for you love?" He asked. Jaenelle didn't reply but instead walked forward and sat in the chair opposite him.

"Winsol is coming up." She stated blandly. Daemon raised an eyebrow and steepled his fingers together.

"Yes." He said, trying to gain more information.

"I was thinking we could go to Hayll this year. For a proper Winsol celebration." Jaenelle said. Daemon winced but kept his composure. No matter how much time passed, Daemon hated going into Terreille, unable to forget the horrible past he had there.

"Is there something going on there?" Daemon asked, trying to think of another reason why Jaenelle would want a different venue for this year's celebration.

"Yes." She replied honestly, but offered up no other information. Daemon nodded and laid his hands on the table.

"Who do you want to bring?" He questioned. Jaenelle smiled and leaned forward to rest her hands on his.

"Lucivar and Marion of course. Saetan, if he wishes. And Rhys." She listed. Daemon smiled.

"And Rhys." He repeated. Jaenelle smiled back as she stood, her hands lingering on his for a second before she pulled them away.

"Thank you Daemon." She said.

"Of course Jaenelle. But tell me, couldn't we allow Gwen to handle this?" Daemon asked. Jaenelle's smile flickered and Daemon saw the conflict in her eyes.

"No, Gwen wouldn't know until it was too late." She said calmly. Daemon nodded again and called in his papers.

"I'll write to her. When would you like to leave?" He questioned.

"As soon as possible." Witch answered and then left the study, leaving only a slight chill in her wake. Daemon sighed and found a clean sheet of paper, thinking of how to word his letter.

Rhys paced the meadow, snarling as he thought back on the web he had weaved. After finally meeting Daemon, the man he knew would lead him to his Dream, he had wanted to weave a web to see where his Dream stood, but he had been scared. But when he finally did, he found terror there. His Dream was in Hayll, and she was in danger. By the end of Winsol, she could be dead, or wishing that she was.

But how could he get into the castle during Winsol?

As a presence walked closer to him, Rhys turned, turning his hands into razor sharp claws. When he saw that it was the Lady, he relaxed, letting the blades slide back into his skin.

"Hello Rhys." Jaenelle called. Rhys bowed, trying to clear the strain and frustration from his face.

"Hello Jaenelle." He replied. As she walked closer to him, the strands of her golden hair not tied back were swaying in the wind.

"We're going to be leaving in a few days." Jaenelle said as she stood next to him.

"Where are you going?" He questioned, his panic rising in his voice. Jaenelle smiled warmly at him and looked off to the horizon.

"We're going to Hayll, all of us." She said. Relief washed over Rhys and he almost cried out at the feeling.

"You saw the web?" He asked.

"I did." Her tone changed, becoming darker, and colder. Rhys shivered as he saw Witch for the first time.

"Can we save her?" He asked. Jaenelle's demeanor changed, Witch melting back past her inner barriers.

"I hope so." She whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: A Week till Winsol

Chapter 2: A Week till Winsol

Lizaveta

Lizaveta dressed excitedly, causing her ladies-in-waiting to sigh and huff, scolding her sometimes about her fidgeting. But a saving grace had come to Hayll.

Over the past few days, Lizaveta had been shadowed by Andulvar with Luther accompanying them every once in a while. She had spent time with Stephan, finding him charming and nice enough, but still a Warlord in a prominent court.

Now her moon's blood was over and the males around her began to relax, and now, Jaenelle was at court.

Which meant, of course, that Uncle Daemon and Uncle Lucivar would be attending as well.

When Lizaveta was finally dressed, she bolted from her room, running into Angeline in her reception room. As an Eyrien, she had the dark skin and golden eyes, but she held a lot of power in how she held herself. Lizaveta knew Angeline could handle any weapon her father put into her hands, and she was also a capable Priestess, but there was also something sharper under her skin, something that radiated out of the Blood Opal the Eyrien wore.

"Are you ready to go?" Angeline asked. Lizaveta nodded and smiled when Angeline advanced.

"The lets go." She said.

The receiving room for Jaenelle's quarters were large, and made it seem as though they had stepped into a one story house. A door to the left opened into a study while on the right, an open arch lead into a small kitchen and dining area. Toward the back would be the antechamber before the bedroom that would have doors branching into the Consort's room, a modest bathroom, and the servants' room, and that held a back way to the kitchen. There were three "rooms" situated like this for Jaenelle and her family, kept especially so within the castle. They were the only ones to use this part of the housing wing and it was jokingly called SaDiablo Hall.

Lizaveta had been through these rooms many times when Lucivar and Marian had been visiting their children and felt at ease with her surroundings. She was not, however, prepared for the strange man sitting on one of the couches in the receiving room. His hair was long and had a warm, golden brown color. His skin was like rich honey and his eyes, eyes that should have held the amber eyes of the long-lived races, were silver. Those eyes had passed over Angeline and Andulvar easily enough, while pausing to take in Luther with his wife Meredith under his arm. He seemed more intent when Alyxandria had trailed in, looking around curiously. But when she had entered, the man had honed in on her and wouldn't stop staring. She tried to distract herself by greeting the members of her extended family.

"So your mother isn't here?" She heard Daemon asked Luther. Her brother shook his head and looked at Meredith, smiling warmly.

"No, she leaves the children with us when she has to go back for Winsol in Dena Nehele." Her brother remarked. Lizaveta stomped over and jabbed her brother sharply. When he yelped and turned to her she cocked an eyebrow.

"Children?" She repeated. She was twenty-four to Luther's twenty-five and Alyxandria was almost twenty. Luther laughed and patted Lizaveta's shoulder.

"You know what I meant." He chuckled. Lizaveta rolled her eyes and turned to Daemon.

"Hello Uncle." She greeted.

"Lizaveta, how pleased I am to see you again." Daemon said and embraced her. When he released her, Lizaveta noticed that Jaenelle had walked up, bring over that man.

"Lizaveta, I wanted to introduce you to somebody." Jaenelle said. The man stepped up as Daemon backed away, leaving the pair in a small space alone.

"My name is Rhys Genua." The man said, his silver eyes glittering in anticipation.

"Lizaveta Ardelia." Lizaveta replied. It seemed like Rhys was twitching under his skin and Lizaveta eyed him warily. She opened her mouth to ask him about it when he pounced on her. He heard male voices shouting and a midnight voice calling them off, but all she could see was Rhys. He was on her, his arms wrapped around her under her breasts, pulling her toward him. She put her hands up so they were resting on his chest and she felt the wild flight of his heart. And then his mouth was on hers, and the sheer need he had rushed from him and into her. She felt her blood sing back to that need.

And then he was suddenly gone.

Lizaveta opened her eyes, feeling her lips swell a little from the kiss, and looked at the people before her. Lucivar and Andulvar each had one of Rhys' arms and were snarling at him. Rhys only strained forward, a hungry look in his eyes.

"My Queen." Rhys called pathetically. Lizaveta put a hand to her lips as the shock waved through her. She was tense and jumped when Angeline put a hand on her shoulder.

"Who is he?" Luther demanded, turning to Daemon.

"He is a Warlord Prince who has just found his Queen and you will put. Him. Down." Heat radiated from each word as Jaenelle, furious, stepped up to Lucivar.

"Cat, he attacked her." Lucivar exclaimed.

"He didn't attack me Uncle, he kissed me." Lizaveta countered. Lucivar and Andulvar snarled in unison. Jaenelle snarled back. The men dropped Rhys, who tried to rush past Jaenelle, but she put a hand on his chest and he halted, his eyes still shining. Lizaveta walked forward but was stopped by Angeline.

"We're we like this?" Jaenelle asked, turning to face Daemon. He smiled and shook his head.

"I wish." He replied.

"Who is he?" Lizaveta asked, repeating Luther's question.

"I am no one, my Lady." He said dejectedly, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

"I know this is a lot to ask, but Gwen has asked us to join her for dinner and I think we need the time to mull over these, interesting introductions." Jaenelle said, and while the others agreed, Lizaveta felt a pain deep in her chest over not being able to spend the time with Rhys.

"Fine." She muttered and was escorted out by Angeline.

Although Lizaveta had expected differently, she was glad to be seated in the main dining hall for dinner. Gwen had not yet arrived, but her husband and Consort, Tristan, sat next to his young daughter Jeanine, feeding her little bites from her plate. Gregory wasn't to be found in the hall, but the other members that made up the First Circle and their respective Consorts or wives were already seated, casual conversation filling the time before the actual meal.

"Well, let's sit down." Jaenelle said and walk toward the massive table. She sat down with Daemon on her left, putting him in between the court and the rest of the family. Lucivar flanked her, followed by Marian and their children, Daemonar, Angeline, and Andulvar. Luther walked easily to sit across from Angeline, with Rhys on his left and Meredith on his right. Alyxandria sat next to their sister-in-law, which left the foot of the table to Lizaveta. She sat nervously, looking at Rhys on her right and Andulvar on her left, this was more foreboding than if she had looked into a web. Lizaveta closed her eyes for a moment to steady her breathing, this didn't mean anything. Her reaction to Rhys was only a reaction to someone so exotic, someone foreign with a straightforwardness she wasn't used to. Opening her eyes, she saw Rhys looking intently at her, worried by her anxious scent. She looked away quickly.

She would not be ruled by fate.

"Sorry I'm late everyone, my meeting lasted longer than I thought." The voice that wafted through the room was breezy and warm. Lizaveta looked up to see the Hayllian Queen Gwen step into the dining hall followed by her son. Everyone in the room stood as Gwen walked around and took her seat at the head of the table, gesturing the others to sit as Gregory took his place.

"Jaenelle, I am so very happy to see you again." Gwen said, taking the linen napkin from the table and draping it in her lap. Others followed suit and the staff began moving around the table with platters to serve the guests.

"I apologize for dropping in on you unexpectedly Gwen, thank you so much for accommodating us." Jaenelle replied, her voice strong. Although her words were subordinate, her tone implied a much higher power. Everyone at the table knew who the bigger Queen was.

"Think nothing of it Sister. Now, let's eat, we can discuss business afterward." Gwen replied just as the platters were unveiled. It was a modest spread, nothing surprised Lizaveta compared to the meals she had been eating at the court this entire time, and this pleased Lizaveta. Gwen did not try to flatter Jaenelle by making herself seem more, extravagant.

"So Lady Ardelia, I've heard that you've been spending some time with Lord Tremont. Is he going to escort you to the Winsol Ball this year?" Gwen asked suddenly. Lizaveta looked up, startled, but was relieved to find no maliciousness in the woman's face. She seemed like she was dabbling in harmless gossip.

"Well, I," Lizaveta faltered as her gaze strayed to Rhys, who looked angry for some reason. "I haven't even begun to think about it Lady."

"I'd be more than happy to take you Lizaveta." Gregory spoke up from his seat. Lizaveta flushed furiously and she heard Lucivar cough to cover his laughter while Daemon just made a noise of amusement.

"The Lady has a week to decide." Lizaveta looked up in surprise, Rhys' voice was collected but there was no mistaking that chill. She looked to her brother, feeling a hard knot being to form in her stomach.

"Why does it feel like I've stumbled into the arena?" Lizaveta quipped nervously. Gwen laughed, changing the topic of conversation and the mood.

Lizaveta shivered as she felt a whisper of a voice before the light brush against her inner barriers.

**You will not actually honor any of these males with you presence to this Ball?** Lizaveta didn't have to look to know that it was Rhys who sent the message on the Black thread. She was caught off guard by the knowledge of his Jewel, one he had hidden well, but kept herself engaged in the conversation at the table. She had practiced this early on in her childhood, maintaining polite conversation while mentally preparing something with allies.

**I can hear you as well, just to let you know.** Daemon's voice slid along the thread, sinking into Lizaveta's core. She didn't reply to him and only felt the agitated snarl Rhys loosed.

**I don't even know who you are.** Lizaveta finally snapped when she felt Rhys waiting for an answer. She closed her barriers, throwing up a Black shield that would, technically, be useless against even one of the Black Jeweled Warlord Princes but they would take it as a sign to leave her alone.

Which, thankfully, they did.

**What did I miss?** **Daemon got all snarly-quiet for some reason.** Jaenelle sent her question along the Ebon-gray distaff thread for privacy. Although it had been three thousand years, Jaenelle was still figuring out Twilight's Dawn, or she had it figured out and kept everyone else in the dark. She didn't seem able to weild as much power as she used to, but could communicate on any of the threads. It was an oddity.

**Nothing. Just that Rhys fellow is getting very possessive. **Lizaveta replied. Jaenelle hesitated in their discussion to reply to Gwen. Lizaveta had lost interest in the topic as soon as Rhys growled at her.

**He has seen you in a web.** Jaenelle finally sent back and it was Lizaveta who paused. She took a bite of her food, something she had been served but had no idea what it was, and didn't care. She used her eating as a way to think and not have to pay attention.

If Rhys had been able to read a web, then that would mean he was a Black Widow. Which meant he was on the same power level as Daemon SaDiablo a Angelline, which was a terrifying thought.

**Was it bad?** Lizaveta questioned.

**It could be.** Was all Jaenelle answered with.

Lizaveta looked down at her plate, trying to keep herself from staring at Rhys. She felt, in the very core of her being, that if she got involved with him, she would be in a greater danger than she had thought.

Stephan

Stephan felt his heart skid to a stop when his partner mentioned the name of the ancient Witch. His hand froze in midair, the playing piece still clutched between his forefinger and thumb. He caught his pause and set the piece down, trying to sift through his whirlwind thoughts while keeping his façade of peacefulness.

"Supposedly, this Lizaveta Ardelia is practically one of the family. I saw her heading out into the gardens with Lucivar Yaslana after dinner." His partner said offhandedly to another man in the group.

"More like dragged. The Eyrien didn't seem happy." The other man laughed.

"Was Daemon with them?" Stephan asked, trying to keep only curiosity, and not panic, in his voice.

"Yeah, he was acting escort all night though. I have to say, the Lady Jaenelle is still one fit bird for being from Challiot and being over three thousand." The first man stated. Stephan nodded and then watched his opponent's move. Five moves ago, Stephan could have annihilated him, but had held his hand, not wanting to flaunt his true power to the other members of the court. He had been trained that way, to seem mild and demurring to lighter Jeweled Princes. A wild cat had their claws clipped at first outburst, but a tame one could hold on to his sheathes for years and could unleash them on those who grew soft and fat on complacency.

"Marked." Stephan said as he moved a piece closer to his opponent's Queen. He watched in smug satisfaction as his opponent was startled but quickly fell back into security. He moved his Queen, unaware of the noose tightening around her neck.

"What I want to know is what's going to happen to Ardelia after Winsol?" The second man inquired.

"Well, there's rumor that Gwen wants her to marry Gregory. She likes the girl enough and it'd be a good match." The first man replied. Stephan bit back his snarl and waited for his turn.

"I heard something a bit more interesting. You know that man Lady Jaenelle brought with her? Supposedly, he's a pleasure slave that she saved from some backwater territory and, even though he couldn't be changed, she was giving him to Ardelia so she'd be taken care of and he'd have a nicer mistress." The second man countered. Stephan clutched his Warlord so tightly, he began to feel the glass begin to crack under his hand. When the two men turned their attention to him, Stephan smiled and set the piece down in a different location than planned. His opponent smiled and attacked his Queen with a Warlord.

"And captured. Good game Tremont. Maybe one day you'll beat me." He said, beaming a large smile and holding out his hand. Stephan shook hands as the third man vanished the board.

"One of these days, I think I will." He replied.


	4. Chapter 4

Lizaveta

Lizaveta

Dragging her sore body to the bed, Lizaveta groaned weakly. After dinner, Lucivar had set about putting distance between Rhys and herself, while giving her something else to think about as well. This meant checking to see if she was keeping up in her training, which Andulvar had always been vehement about. And as Lizaveta mewled pathetically about her bruises, she watched in irritated relief as Lucivar applauded his youngest son's abilities to keep "such a pampered princess in shape".

Lizaveta flopped onto the bed face first, feeling soar all over. She heard, with no interest, the door to her bedroom open and the soft rub of fabric as a person walked in. Angeline was just as irritating as her brother when it came to shields and little defensive triggers, so Lizaveta already knew that it was the vassal for Witch walking toward her bed.

"Hello Jaenelle." Lizaveta muttered, her mouth blocked by her blanket. She felt the bed shift as Jaenelle sat next to her and rubbed her back in soothing circles. Lizaveta kicked off her boots and curled farther onto the bed, and, in a moment of innocent childishness, laid her head in Jaenelle's lap. They sat in silence for a moment, Jaenelle taking up her petting on Lizaveta's head and Lizaveta letting all of her frustration drain from her before talking.

"Why didn't you ever have children Jaenelle?" Lizaveta asked suddenly. Growing up, Lizaveta had always seen Jaenelle as a surrogate mother, not that her own was lacking. But in all of the political intrigue, and especially when Lizaveta was showing a leaning to a darker Jewel, Jaenelle was the only constant. When every other person was measuring her with a wary eye, even her parents, who thought they could hide their true intentions from a natural Black Widow, were cautious around her. Jaenelle never treated her any different, even from Lucivar's children, upon whom she also doted.

"I always wanted to be normal Lizzie, and I took up the mantle as Witch to keep the people I loved safe. I would have liked nothing more than to be a mother, but both Daemon and I were – are – worried about what fate would mark any children born from the two of us. And, I have been blessed with many children that I would gladly claim as my own in my lifetime." Jaenelle answered, ending with a cool pat to Lizaveta's forehead. Taking that as a cue, Lizaveta sighed and pushed herself up, tucking her legs underneath her like Jaenelle.

"What do you think about Rhys?" She questioned. Here, Jaenelle's eyes went flat and she drifted in thought. The temperature didn't change and Lizaveta took that as a good sign, although the silence was a little unnerving.

"I see a Warlord Prince who walks the line between Blood and Kindred, sanity and the Twisted Kingdom, reality and delusions. I think that things he may think are true, may be based in a hopeful wish that kept him from sinking too far into the Twisted Kingdom. I don't know where his intentions lie, but I sense a lot of good in him." Jaenelle answered succinctly. Lizaveta furrowed her brows and looked down at the patterns in her blanket. She pulled on a few loose threads as she thought, plucking at her mental threads as she went.

"You can't read him? I mean, like you can among both the Blood and the Kindred?" She inquired. Jaenelle softened and sighed gently.

"He has been broken for too long, even I cannot be sure." She replied. Lizaveta's eyes widened but realized a moment later what she had meant. Rhys was definitely not broken, in the vernacular meaning of the word. He could barely reign in the flare of power that came up from something even Jaenelle thought might be a delusion.

"Both he and I are dangerous for the amount of power we have and the few restraints we can actually wear." Lizaveta mused, propping her elbow on the crook of her knee and cradling her chin.

"But of different severity. A Black Jeweled Warlord Prince who is a little touched in the head but had pledged himself to a Queen is dramatically less dangerous than a Black Jeweled Queen with no court." Jaenelle countered.

"I don't understand why I can't just stay in Dena Nehele." Lizaveta muttered, turning her gaze away as she felt the prick of tears. Her own mother was turning her away.

In response to the despair Lizaveta was exuding, Jaenelle shifted and put an arm around Lizaveta's shoulders.

"It's part of the agreement. To put a Queen darker than Gwen on a short-lived race throne would be seen as an attempt to thwart Terreille's influence. The only thing that kept a gray Jeweled Queen was tradition, anything darker would be seen as a threat." Jaenelle explained. Lizaveta took a deep breath and let it out, trying to dissolve the hopelessness she felt.

"I just don't want to be seen as a," Lizaveta paused to find the right word. "Hot potato to be passed around till someone can find a place for me." She smirked as she heard Jaenelle chuckle over the reference to a children's game.

"You could get married. Gregory is infatuated with you and I've been hearing a lot about this Stephan Tremont. I should like to meet him." Jaenelle said lightly, trying to jostle Lizaveta from her dark mood. Lizaveta rolled her eyes and groaned with a smile and she pushed herself onto her back.

"Gregory is nice enough but he's a bit of a bore. And Stephan leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, psychically speaking of course." She remarked. Jaenelle leaned back, keeping her head propped up on her arm.

"Now I would definitely like to meet this Tremont character." Jaenelle said. Lizaveta laughed and swatted her hand through the air.

"No, I just think he's overly ambitious. Thinks he can catch himself a pretty wife that will move him into First Circle is all." She stated. Jaenelle relaxed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Have you given any thought to who you'll be going with to the Winsol Ball?" Jaenelle questioned. Lizaveta sighed and threw an arm over her eyes.

"I'd rather skirt by the whole thing by making Luther take me, but he'd do it and then Meredith wouldn't have any fun. Choosing Rhys is just dangerous and Stephan would cause some unnecessary rumors to start. Gregory's the safest bet since it will calm his mother and, even with those rumors, secure my safety here at court, now that I know I'll be here for a while." She answered.

"That is very sensible." Jaenelle responded. Lizaveta sighed and flipped over onto her stomach, her head resting on her crossed arms.

"Do you ever feel like, because you're stronger, you shouldn't be forced to deal with nonsense like this? Like you just want to wipe everything away and live your life?" She questioned. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lizaveta regretted them. Jaenelle _had_ wiped away everything that offended her as Witch and went on with her life.

"Sometimes." Came the murmured reply.

Stephan

The day after Jaenelle arrived, while Stephan was trying to think of a way to ask Lizaveta to the Winsol Ball, it was announced that she would go with Gregory. It was a smart move on her part, but it still infuriated Stephan to his core and he spent the day fuming in his chambers. He tried to think of the way he could get close enough in order to get Lizaveta. But in a moment of despair, Stephan realized he had nothing to ensnare the woman to begin with. He had looks and charm, but there had always been something about him that repelled romantic advances. Normally, Stephan didn't care, but he knew the precarious position he was in at the moment. Even if it were not a love match, Lizaveta could come to see how much easier her life would get with Gregory, and to compound it, the Queen's son was genuinely fond of her.

There had to be _something_.

Muttering curses under his breath, Stephan wrenched open the door to his bedroom and walked into the antechamber. He paused as he sensed a presence and felt his nerves set on edge.

"Who's there?" He hissed. Instead of a reply, a shadow moved from out of the doorway to the receiving room. It looked like a cloak hanging on sharp shoulders, the hood was up and the face of the person was masked.

"I offer some help, friend." The rasped voice that escaped from the void was a sexless as the shape the cloak took. Stephan tried to probe and found, nothing.

"Who are you?" Stephan demanded.

"I am no one, lost to the Darkness with the rest of my kind." The figure replied.

"What do you want?" Stephan asked warily.

"To help." A clawed hand protruded from the deep black folds of the cloak and held a red velvet bag. Stephan reached forward slowly and snatched the bag away when the figure didn't move.

"You wear your Birth Rite Jewel, why? Because you like to seem tame. You must have this Lizaveta fall in love with you or else you will not be able to control her. But with Witch at court, this will be a most difficult thing to do. These will help you in your quest to secure the Black Queen." The figure said. As Stephan sat down on a small armchair, he opened the bag and upended its contents on the little setting table before him. Trinkets and a small packet of powder spilled out onto the surface. As he went to examine them, he finally felt the lightest touch of a psychic link to the figure.

"You're a White Jeweled Priestess? Why should I accept any help from such a weak Jeweled Priestess?" Stephan scoffed. The Priestess walked forward and pushed back her hood with her clawed hands. Her slitted eyes gleamed a most malevolent silver, and her thin nose flare.

"There was magic in the world before the Blood youngling. Do not doubt me. Do you want to know what these do or not?" She spat. Stephan physically recoiled, but his fingers traced over the few trinkets.

"Not even Witch will be able to detect this until it is too late, only the other man will be able to tell what it is but he is too long gone from our ways." The Priestess said as she moved closer to Stephan.

"You mean the pleasure slave?" Stephan asked incredulously.

"He is not a pleasure slave." The Priestess stated, almost angrily.

"What am I supposed to do Priestess?" Stephan asked, tiring of the woman already.

"Give her the ring to dull her senses. The bracelet goes to Witch and will only react to Lizaveta, nothing else can be sensed. The powder is to go into the Black Queen's drink, starting with a low dose and adding more each time. You will not need much and by the last night of Winsol, she will be yours." The Priestess said. Stephan picked up the small, semi-translucent paper packet that held a coarse powder.

"What is it?" He asked. He knew no aphrodisiac would work on a Black Jeweled Queen unless in a high amount, and Jaenelle would notice that sooner that most. But the Priestess had mentioned something about a deeper magic.

"Powdered Dragon's scale, what your precious Jewels are made of." The Priestess answered maliciously. Something about that chilled Stephan to his core. There was so much power in reserve that the each Jewel held, and something told him that this power was not lost when the Jewels were ground.

"What color were they?" Stephan asked as he set the packet down reverently.

"Rose. They had been mine, before I was broken." The woman snarled. Stephan flinched but felt that same fluttering against his psychic barriers as he did when he noticed the figure as a woman. She had a very different meaning of broken.

"That will be strong enough?" He asked.

"So many questions, but I understand. Yes, it will be enough. These were my Jewels." The Priestess said and turned, drawing her hood as she did.

"Wait," Stephan started as he stood from his seat. "Why are you helping me?" The Priestess paused, her arms falling back into the robe and obscuring her shape.

"That other man is a traitor and I will finally destroy him for the wickedness he brought to my people." She replied. Stephan watched quietly as the woman stepped into the shadows the now darkening windows cast, and vanished. Instead of lingering on the spot she had just occupied, Stephan turned his attention back to the small pile on items on the table. He picked up the ring, laughing softly about the small diamond centered on a simple silver band. Other brightly colored gems formed a line on either side of the diamond, giving it a semblance to the ranking of Jewels. It was an appropriate gift for Winsol. And the bracelet was made of a material unknown to Stephan but reminded him of the unicorn's horn. It was inlaid with gold and silver veins, making it seem like marble. Stephan probed them both with the Green and found nothing out of the ordinary. Only simple pieces of jewelry.

Stephan set the pieces back down and pocketed the powder before going to the door to the receiving room. He had to go make one final fitting before the Winsol ball, and to see about getting his presents wrapped.

Daemon

"DAEMON!" Before he could even think, Daemon was bursting into the bedroom where Jaenelle had gone to lay down. She looked pale, drawn, and Daemon was immediately at her side, holding her.

"What is it love? Are you all right?" He asked. He could feel her shivering in his embrace and he merely tightened his hold.

"Something brushed against the Twilight's Dawn and kept going." Jaenelle said.

"Ebony?" Daemon asked, still not understanding what happened.

"Not Ebony, just, different. And it only seemed to be passing by, but wanted me to notice." Jaenelle explained.

"Like a greeting? Or a search?" Daemon pressed. Jaenelle shook her head and took in a deep breath. Daemon watched her slowly exhale before turning to him.

"No, more like a challenge." She replied. They sat in silence for a moment, Daemon's mind trying to work through the possibilities. No Blood had ever before been darker than Black, not before and definitely not since Jaenelle. And even the Kindred were in registers, in their own way. So no one in the Three Realms could have been hiding a darker Jewel until believing they could take on Witch.

But Rhys was not in any register. There could be others like him.

Or with him.

Daemon bristled but calmed his nerves, needing to check on a few things first. And there was one piece of information he could get now.

"I have a letter from Draca." Daemon said softly. Jaenelle snapped upright and stared at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She demanded.

"I was just about to. And then you summoned me." Daemon said jokingly as he called in the letter he hadn't remembered vanishing in his panic. Jaenelle snatched it and pried open the seal. She scanned the letter and then smiled, looking at Daemon.

"She says she knows Rhys and is very surprised to hear of him. Supposedly, he is of an ancient race call the _Aeshamani_, a race of cat creatures that were fierce warriors. They had a belief of 'earth and stone, fire and steel, blood and iron' as Draca puts it. They prayed to nature spirits but sacrificed live animals to their sun god Aesham, who was also a god of war. They have a deep bloodlust but also a deeper calling to this ancient magic. Rhys was supposed to be a mage warrior, but left his clan to educate himself. He was a scholar, Daemon, and he took up with Draca's daughter to learn more about the magic the Dragons wielded.

"She says when the Dragons shed their skins, some of the ancient races were destroyed by the Blood's magic. Others went into hiding, becoming nothing more than barbaric animals next to the Kindred, and others made an offering to both the earth and the Darkness and became these hybrid creatures. Draca helped Rhys shape his body, undergo the Birth Rite Ceremony, and learn Craft. She says that he left soon after she changed her shape and Lorn went into hiding. She didn't know what became of him, but wishes to see him again soon." Jaenelle paraphrased, while rereading the letter. There was no relief in Daemon as she told him this.

"But she doesn't know what happened to him after going through the Twisted Kingdom, or after making his Offering and walking away with the Black, or learning to Weave, or about him being a Black Widow." Daemon cut off his ramblings as he noticed Jaenelle glowering at him.

"There is Darkness in all who are Blood, but sometimes there can be enough goodness to make up for even the worst indiscretions." She said pointedly. An image of a mutilated form of a witch bubbled up in Daemon's mind and he nodded solemnly.

"I am only trying to look out for you my love." Daemon said. Jaenelle pulled away and waved her hands at him.

"_I_ am fine. _I_ am Witch. I can handle myself, even against a snarly, Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince," she said and smiled wickedly at him. "But I'm worried about Lizaveta."

"This is why we're here, to protect her. I'd like to see anything try to get by Andulvar, let alone Lucivar." Daemon said and pulled Jaenelle back down into an embrace. She laid her head against his chest and pulled her legs up onto the bed. Daemon smoothed the hair away from her face and felt his heart pound in his chest, but not from lust. Feeling her underneath his skin, Daemon felt his body sing happily to the rhythm of her heartbeat. He loved her more than he could have hoped to ever feel.

"Nothing will happen Jaenelle, I swear." He murmured and kissed her softly.

Rhys

Rhys felt the same brush against the Black thread, and was suddenly put on alert. He knew the feel, even down to the very core of his being. But for the life of him, couldn't remember why he knew the touch. There was something feral and familiar, with a hidden ridge, sharp as any blade. But he could not place where he knew it from.

Pacing around his room was quickly becoming unbearable. He had locked himself away in the room after he found out Gregory was going to be escorting Lizaveta to the ball. At least it wasn't the Tremont boy, but it was still bad. These men followed a Protocol, and Lizaveta could change hands numerous times during the evening. If she had gone with him, he would have snarled away any attempt other males outside of the family would have put up to steal his Queen away.

Somehow, Rhys knew that if Lizaveta was claimed by another male during this event, Daemon would not tolerate his flaunting of basic courtly manners.

And now, that strange feeling was setting him on edge.

Rhys was staying in the Consort's room next to Jaenelle and Daemon. On the outside it might seem awkward but Rhys felt more secure knowing that there were only two ways into his room, and only one of them wasn't through Jaenelle's room.

Pushing open the small, wooden door hidden next to his bed, Rhys was realized to hear voices coming down the hallway. This door connected into the small service hall that connected the Consort and the servants to the kitchen. So the voices he heard were coming from the small dining room.

He walked swiftly down the hall, hearing the untreated wood groan under his feet. As he got closer to the kitchen, he could see a dim light washing into the small hall. His eyes adjusted quickly moments before reaching the doorway and walking into the small room.

Daemon and Lucivar were hunched over the small island in the center of the kitchen. Lucivar held a tall ceramic cup in his hands while Daemon held a crystal glass filled with red liquid to his lips.

"Ah, Rhys, come in." Daemon said as he set his glass down. Rhys entered, nodded a small greeting to Lucivar, who returned it lazily.

"I have a question for you Daemon." Rhys started and took a seat at the closet side of the island to the door. The chair was old, something once discarded that a servant had stolen away to sit and watch the fire perhaps. It groaned vehemently under Rhys' weight, but he ignored it. He had noticed earlier that an irritated male pacing seemed to make the brothers anxious.

"What is it Rhys?" Daemon asked. Lucivar looked at his brother, curious about the chilled reply.

"You walked through the Twisted Kingdom. When you came out, were you the same?" Rhys questioned. Lucivar turned away at the question and took a long pull from his cup. Daemon smiled softly and spun the stem of his wine glass between his finger and thumb. Rhys watched in mild fascination as the red liquid swirled around the goblet.

"Yes and no. I was the same when it came to Jaenelle, and perhaps a little to the rest of my family. But not to the rest of the world, and never again will I be that person." He finally answered. Rhys nodded and felt a twinge of despair. Love had been a guiding force in Daemon's escape. Such was not the case for Rhys. His family was inconsequential, shadows that lingered long past their necessity. And although he had always loved the woman that was Lizaveta, he did not know her and had given up finding her. It was the tiny, golden spiders that coaxed him out and tried to rebuild his chalice, sealing each crack with a tiny web. But something was missing, and he didn't know what it was, or what harm it's absence would cause.

"Do you think she will ever love me?" Rhys asked to no one in particular. He slumped over, resting his head against the countertop, letting his arms swing freely at his sides. To this, Lucivar laughed.

"I can tell you are heartsick my friend. Why don't we go spar and take your mind off of things?" Lucivar questioned. Rhys snapped up and smiled broadly, feeling his fangs more so with his teeth clenched. Laughing again, Lucivar showed off his own set of fangs.

In that moment, Rhys questioned again why everyone else seemed so irritated by Lucivar and his sparring. The man was wonderful.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 3: First Night of Winsol

Chapter 3: First Night of Winsol

Lizaveta

"I am hating this much more than I thought." Lizaveta muttered as she stood in the ballroom with Angeline and Andulvar. Like most major courts in Terreille, the Winsol ceremony was celebrated by extravagant events every day in the thirteen day period. There was usually a ball every evening, more people coming to the first and last one than to the others. During the day, since the days were getting shorter, there were great pageants and events, like a joust or some Kindred rite. It all cumulated to the longest night, Witch's Night, when everyone came together to celebrate everything that was Witch, and to the females within the Blood. Lizaveta had always remembered growing up that having Jaenelle attend one of these fetes or going to Dhemlan to see Witch herself was always the pinnacle of success, not that it happened much. And now, Gwen could boast hosting a Winsol where the most recent, and most powerful, Witch had attended. In accordance to Jaenelle's arrival, Gwen had gone a deemed a theme to this year's ball, one that Lizaveta found a little insulting and anxiety prone.

The theme was Jewel rank.

So Lizaveta stood in between her friends in a black taffeta dress in the old style, the mask sitting on the bridge of her nose and tied behind her head. She felt gaunt and exposed, being naturally fair colored, a fact accentuated greatly by the sheer darkness of the black. The cut of the dress was simple and hugged to her body to show off the supple lines of youth, as her dressmaker had proclaimed. Her slender neck was shown off by the spray of curls at the back of her head, held up by a diamond studded gauze hold, while a few curls spilled out in an artful design. She felt like a marble statue, cold and unfeeling.

She sighed and looked over at the pair beside her. Angeline wore a backless dress made of a cream colored silk. When she moved, the light caught and sent of glittering colors ranging from a pale yellow to a pastel purple. Andulvar wore a suit of crimson red, a color that matched surprisingly well for his dark toned skin. The masks that they wore were tasteful but seemed silly to Lizaveta as their wings would give them away more than their eyes.

"I think it's fun. I can't wait to see Jaenelle's dress." Angeline stated. Lizaveta turned to question Andulvar, but he was looking off into the crowd. A man in a sapphire suit came into view and headed toward them.

"Look who's coming." Andulvar quipped and turned back to Lizaveta.

"Ah, Lizaveta, I'm sorry I didn't escort you in." Gregory said apologetically. Lizaveta smiled warmly at him and touched his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I had thought you and your family had something to do prior anyway."

She replied. Gregory returned her smile and as she removed her hand, turned to Andulvar and Angeline.

"A pleasure Lord-" He began but was cut off by a growl from Andulvar. Angeline looked alarmed and Lizaveta stiffened.

"It's just Andulvar Prince. I don't really have the patience for courtly manners." Andulvar sighed, ignoring the anxiety coming from his sister and Lizaveta. Gregory smiled and laughed a little, setting Lizaveta at ease. She liked how easily Gregory deflected discomfort and genuinely found herself happy in his presence.

"Well then, I insist that you call me Gregory, both of you. As long as it's not just Greg, I detest that nickname." Gregory said, laughter still an edge in his voice, another sign that he was more amused that trying to be diplomatic.

"This one still calls me Andy like we are children." Andulvar sighed and jerked a thumb at Lizaveta.

"Only because you call me Lizzie." Lizaveta sputtered while Angeline laughed. Gregory turned to her and took one of her hands in both of his. He looked at her and gave her a smile that was more than friendly.

"And that is an atrocity for your name is too beautiful to shorten Lizaveta." He said and kissed the back of her hand gently. Her heart stopped as a blush rose from her chest up to her face. This Prince was one who knew how to treat a woman.

"Well, here comes trouble." Andulvar muttered. Gregory released Lizaveta's hand as they all turned. Jaenelle entered the room on Daemon's arm with Lucivar and Rhys flanking her. Marian and Alyxandria came in staggered behind them, trailing Luther and Meredith, arm on arm. Alyxandria, despite having already reached her majority, had postponed her Offering until Lizaveta was secured in a safe court, even if that court was Dena Nehele, so that there would be no problems, meaning no dispute of who would be allowed to rule their home territory. It was a sweet gesture on her part, though Lizaveta thought it ill planned, and it was a sharp reminder as Alyxandria appeared in a green dress, matching their brother Luther.

Daemon wore a well tailored black suit that made Lizaveta's pulse race and her mouth dry. She knew the old stories and the rumors, and had been struck by his beauty ever since she reached womanhood, and it chilled her, putting the two together. She turned her eyes away and looked at Jaenelle, struck by the sight to behold there.

Jaenelle's dress was incredibly simple, a curved cut that was high to give modesty and long sleeves that were unadorned. But the dress had been dyed in such a way to show the progression of rose to black, like a sunset. Her hair was down, flowing over her bare shoulders in a pale yellow rush. Dotting her hair, like drops of black rain, were smoothed pieces of obsidian on black ribbons. It was like an inverse sky, black stars on a shining curtain of light. No one would have argued if she had gone with a black gown, or if she had managed to convey an ebony color, but she went with her present Jewel, letting others believe that she had gone down in power and allowing themselves to feel secure in this delusion.

To compound the fact that Jaenelle had a strong power base, most of the people around her wore darker jewels, with the exception of Meredith with her Summer-sky and Marian wearing the Purple Dusk. Even Daemonar wore his father's Jewel of Ebon-gray. And Rhys looked stunning, although a little feral, in his black suit, one with black and gold roses embroidered on the fabric.

Lizaveta watched uneasily as Rhys scanned the room and, upon finding her, moved quickly to reach her. Lucivar reacted and intercepted him, standing in front of him to convey an intimidating blockade, but no challenge. Rhys backed away without a snarl but still looked after Lizaveta, yearning very apparent in his eyes.

"Shall we go over?" Gregory asked and held out his arm. Lizaveta draped her own over his and they walked over, followed by Andulvar and Angeline.

"Jaenelle, you look amazing." Lizaveta blurted as they stepped closer. Andulvar chuckled as Lizaveta blushed, feeling nervous at being so close to Rhys. Since the dinner, Angeline had been charged with keeping Lizaveta away from him while Lucivar was with Rhys. This was the closest they had been in a week and Lizaveta could feel the strain in the man.

"Thank you Lizaveta." Jaenelle replied softly.

"So how are we going to be paired up?" Angeline asked. Within a court, fetes such as this were used as a way from couples to be made. Those who were not interested usually had an escort, although sometimes an escort was left behind. Any single person was seen as available and this could be irritating for any Blood not wanting to deal with even the most polite advances.

"Well sister, I shall be your escort." Daemonar said, a sly tone imbedding itself in his words. Andulvar started and Alyxandria blushed furiously. It was common knowledge, at least to everyone except the two in question, that Andulvar and Alyxandria were smitten with one another.

"I thought I'd escort her. I am her twin." Andulvar sputtered.

"Nonsense," Daemonar deflected as he moved toward his sister. "I'm sure Alyxandria would prefer the company of someone other than an old married man who hates dancing. Angeline and I agree on the latter part and I should think you two would make a lovely pair."

"I hate dancing." Andulvar muttered weakly, not wanting to look at Alyxandria.

"Stop being insulting Andulvar." Marian snapped. Shyly, Andulvar moved over and stood next to Alyxandria, neither of them looking at the other. Lizaveta couldn't help but chuckle and was rewarded by a dark look from her sister and Andulvar, which only made her laugh harder.

"What about Rhys?" Lizaveta asked casually. She figured that he looked to scary for any sensible lady to approach him but she worried about what his being single would mean.

"I will go where I am needed my Lady." Rhys replied evenly. Lizaveta shivered and Gregory looked at the man, quiet curiosity blatant on his face.

"Well, mother is going to start of the celebration soon, why don't we move closer to the dais?" He offered.

"Excellent idea Prince." Luther said and took his wife's hand. Gregory drew Lizaveta closer, ignoring the dark flash Rhys' eyes made as he did, and led the group farther into the room.

Stephan

Stephan spent his evening dancing with a few simpering, lighter Jeweled ladies. But they were boring, only wanting to talk about Jaenelle and her entourage, while being irritating in their way of flirting. Finally, as the night was reaching its peak, with midnight being only a few hours away, Stephan excused himself politely away from the most recent lady, a Rose Jeweled witch who kept talking about how it was "such a pity that Jaenelle wasn't Witch any longer" thus proving her ignorance, and walked to the spot where Lizaveta and Gregory stood chatting idly.

"Good evening Prince Gregory, Lady Ardelia." Stephan said and bowed.

"Hello Stephan." Lizaveta greeted.

"A pleasure Lord Tremont." Gregory replied, inclining his head. An anger tinged revulsion swept through Stephan but he kept his smile straight.

"I was wondering if I could have the honor of one dance with the Lady?" Stephan asked.

"Would that be alright Gregory?" Lizaveta inquired. Gregory only smile and opened his hands.

"I am merely here at your approval Lady. I would never think of trying to impede." He replied, his soft voice turning into velvet for her. At the sight of her blush, Stephan had to set his jaw in fear that he'd lash out.

"Shall we Stephan?" Lizaveta said, bringing him around. Stephan smiled at her and took her hand, almost being swept away by the warmth and softness of her skin. He wanted to claim it, make it his own and keep other like Gregory from claiming it. The image that thought evoked made his pulse jump and he had to calm himself. There would be time enough for that once Winsol was over.

"Do you like to dance Stephan?" Lizaveta asked as he led her onto the dance floor. A song had just started so he swept her up into the proper stance and quickly set into the steps.

"Well enough. My mother made me learn when I hadn't yet made the Offering. It depends upon my partner if I actually enjoy it." Stephan said. Lizaveta smiled shyly and Stephan had to restrain his desire to tighten his grip on her, to press her body against his.

"You should know that you dance very well." She commented.

"So I hate to pry, but what is your relation to Jaenelle? I'm very curious." Stephan asked, wanting to keep the conversation light and her at ease.

"I spent most of my childhood training at Jaenelle's after I gained the Red. My mother feared that her education would not help me, all things considering." Lizaveta sighed. The fact was, once they had found out that she was not only a Black Widow but a Red Jeweled Queen, Lizaveta's mother had written to Janelle in all haste, saying that she would better teach a child that would be shunned by the world than the Hourglass Coven, yet not in so many words.

"How is she? I mean, outside of the court?" He inquired.

"Oh, she's wonderful. The things she knows is just impressive. I never thought that someone who's so powerful could be so compassionate." Lizaveta explained. Stephan spun her around on the dance floor, watching a few loose curls fly out behind her. As the night had progressed, she had become more and more energetic till she seemed to glow from her energy.

"She sounds amazing. You must have learned a lot from her." He said.

"Well, not a lot, I was easily distracted at a young age." Lizaveta replied and blushed.

"I doubt that. And, you are very amazing in your own right Lady Ardelia." He whispered. Although he had used her formal name, it sounded so seductive when he said it. Lizaveta blushed harder and Stephan only smiled. The rest of the dance was spent in silence, Lizaveta pretending to concentrate on her footing although Stephan was indeed a very good dancer and led her across the floor as if she were floating.

When the song ended, Stephan led her off the floor but, unknown by Lizaveta, to the opposite side of the room from where they had left Gregory. They stood in a secluded pocket next to a large bouquet of flowers that sent out a pleasant scent as the room warmed.

"Lizaveta, it's almost midnight and, I know you have another escort, so I wanted to give you this." Stephan said and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small box and Lizaveta put her hands to her mouth.

"Oh Stephan, I didn't get you anything." She remarked fearfully. She hadn't known that she was supposed to have a gift every night for her escort, let alone other people she knew. Stephan allayed her fears by chuckling.

"Don't worry Lizaveta, this is a time to celebrate Witch." He said. Lizaveta lowered her hands and smiled as he opened the box.

"It's beautiful." Lizaveta exclaimed as he picked up the ring and reached out for her hand. When she noticed him going for her right hand, she panicked, fearing that he would feel something to give away her poisonous fang.

"How about here?" She said and tapped her middle finger. Stephan looked up at her curiously and she grinned.

"Just to be different." She stated simply. Stephan grinned back and obliged, slipping the ring over the middle finger of her right hand. As soon as it was on, Stephan watched as Lizaveta suddenly flushed and trembled on her feet.

"Do you need something to drink?" Stephan asked, concerned. Lizaveta touched her forehead and smiled at him, though her lips twitched.

"Please. Some juice perhaps?" She said. Stephan nodded and disappeared into the crowd. The corner of his mouth hitched upward as he thought about his plan. He didn't know what the ring did but he was glad to see that its effect was immediate.

"Excuse me." Stephan said as he reached past a small group of people and plucked a tall glass from a roaming servant's tray. The cup contained a chilled pomegranate juice, which only made Stephan smile wider. The fruit had a rumored, natural aphrodisiac, and a sharp enough taste to hid whatever flavor the powder had. On his way back, Stephan used the crowds to remove the packet and pour only a few granules of the powder into the cup, swirling it as he replaced the packet into an interior pocket.

He returned to find Lizaveta leaning heavily against the vase of the bouquet, beads of sweat dotting her skin.

"Here you go." He said, trying to make his features convey a sense of worry. Lizaveta took the cup and, without even so much as a simple probe, down the cup in a few swallows. For a second, she still looked flushed, but then her normal color came back and she stood a little straighter. As she handed the cup back to him, she chuckled and wiped at her face with her free hand.

"I guess all of the excitement just got to me." She said. Stephan made to reply but was cut off by the sound of someone calling for Lizaveta.

"There you are. I thought you both had gone for another dance but I didn't see you among the group. Are you alright Lizaveta?" Gregory said as he rushed toward her, genuine concern in his eyes. Stephan had to choke back the growl in his throat.

"She's fine, just a little tired I think." Stephan replied. Gregory leveled his gaze on him but Stephan didn't even flinch. He might have been a Prince but Stephan was a darker Jeweled Warlord and could hold his own.

"Thank you, Lord Tremont, for taking care of her, but I think I should like some more time with the lady." Gregory said and then turned a smiling face to Lizaveta. "Shall we?" Lizaveta took his arm but as they walked away, she turned her face around to look at Stephan, her eyes confused. When the disappeared, Stephan let out a breath and leaned against the vase, rolling the empty glass between his hands.

"Too late to get suspicious now, Prince, she's already mine." He said, a small smile playing across his face while his eyes flashed with a deadly light.


	6. Chapter 6

Rhys

Rhys

Leaning against the wall, seeming calmer than he actually was, Rhys watched as a worried Jaenelle escorted a wilting Lizaveta from the hall. As she had passed by him, he had caught a faint scent from her, recognizing it as he had that light caress from a week prior, something very familiar but one he couldn't remember _how_ it was familiar. In his mind, there were flashes of paws pressing flowers in a small hole dug into the earth, of rings forged from magic alone, their clumsy limbs unable to do that simple task. Rings of varying sizes, what might have been their only chance at survival.

Flashes of betrayal.

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut to try and push those flashes from his mind, and when he opened them, found a figure standing beside him.

"You seem to be taking this well." The silky voice said. Rhys snorted but didn't turn to look at Daemon.

"I did not think it appropriate to follow the Lady, as it seems I am unwelcome in her presence." He retorted, making no attempt to hide the caustic bitterness he felt about that.

"You recognized the spell that she's wrapped in. And don't play coy, both Jaenelle and I can taste the damn thing, it's so thick. You did too and I saw that look." Daemon stated. Rhys pushed himself away from the wall and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the pop in his shoulders as he spread his fingers out, letting his claws slide out a little.

"I recognized it, but I do not know what it is or from where. Nor does it taste malevolent." He replied, letting his arms drop. Daemon snarled and turned on him.

"Not malevolent? The girl looks like she's had the fever for months! And it's my duty to make sure that nothing harms her." He hissed, moving closer to Rhys and letting the heat of his raw anger roll forward. Rhys only looked back at him, his silver eyes cold.

"That is not my duty as well? You may be her Uncle through whatever line, but I am her rightful Consort. I love her with every drop of blood in my body and I would gladly spill it for her. Even if this turns out to be some harmless love game you morally stunted Blood play, I will rip the limbs off of whatever creature has done this to her and claw out his entrails. Never accuse me of trying to harm _my_ Lady." He said calmly, despite the words that came from his lips. A chill battled with Daemon's heat but quickly overtook it, pushing roughly against Daemon's body. When he was finished, Rhys turned and walked out of the hall, the deep chill following him and frosting the glass in the windows on the wall. Daemon relaxes as he looked at the frosted glass, knowing exactly what was happening to Rhys at this moment.

"Do you think he did anything?" Daemonar asked as he approached, his wings twitching more from confusion than anything else.

"No. I believe he is more like me than I thought, just like Jaenelle said he was." Daemon answered.

Walking down the hall, Rhys had to try and still his heart beat, feeling it try to tear itself out of his chest was setting him more on edge. There were a few bodies in the halls as Rhys kept walking, most of them were preoccupied with one another while the others were just servants, wishing they could be at the ball or cursing their masters for whatever infraction. Finally, Rhys made it to the hall where his room, knew this was where Jaenelle would have taken Lizaveta, where all her healing things were.

Pushing open the door, Rhys was alarmed to see that the two women hadn't even made it to a bedroom. Instead Jaenelle had laid the exhausted form of his Lady on a lounge, and was kneeling on the floor next to her talking to an impressive wolf Kindred.

"I need you to go research this please." Jaenelle said. The wolf huffed and turned to walk toward Jaenelle's room. It got past the door and disappeared, just as Jaenelle turned her attention to Rhys.

"What is wrong with her?" Rhys asked as he walked to the lounge and knelt in front of Jaenelle.

"I don't know. Kaeli said she recognized the scent and would go seek it out. But I don't even know what this spell is doing. I don't think it has anything to do with Blood magic though." Jaenelle sighed and stroked Lizaveta's bare arm.

"Daemon thought I had something to do with this." Rhys stated. Jaenelle looked at him, her eyes at once going flat and deep.

"Did you?" She questioned.

"No." He answered. Jaenelle nodded, her eyes going back to normal, and turned to Lizaveta.

"I can understand his suspicions though. You did say your people had access to an older magic than the ones the Blood have." She replied. Rhys sighed and leaned against the edge of the lounge at Lizaveta's feet, trying not to touch her.

"I know, but it still hurt me." Rhys paused and looked toward the open door of Jaenelle's bedroom. "Who is Kaeli?"

"She's an Opal Healer, sister to the Queen of the closest pack. She's very nice." Jaenelle answered and stood, stretching her legs after kneeling for so long.

"Will she be able to help?" Rhys asked. Jaenelle stretched, putting her hands on her lower back and leaning backward.

"I don't know. There's something undermining Lizaveta's psychic shields and something else blocking her Black Jewel from being able to react. She's very susceptible to a psychic attack now and there's nothing I, or Kaeli, can do." Jaenelle replied, her voice hitching a little at the end. Rhys stood and went to her, folding Jaenelle's body gently next to his own. He held her while Jaenelle cried, stroking her hair while pulling out the silly ties. There was a moment, while he brushed his hand through her hair, that a piece of the fragile obsidian snagged and snapped in half, slicing him down the length of his palm. He pulled his hand away from Jaenelle's head and watched the blood well up from the cut and Rhys felt a tug inside of him.

The sharp smell of blood, hot metal next to a roaring fire, the cool earth in its shadow, smoothed rocks in a neat circle, there was a deeper magic that his kind held onto, and the memory of it lingered in his blood. Rhys clenched his hand, stopping the light blood flow, as Jaenelle pulled away from him and looked curiously at his fist.

"Do you recognize the spell?" A voice not quite Jaenelle's asked.

"Yes." Rhys replied honestly. Witch nodded and looked at Lizaveta.

"Something your people can do?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what it is?"

"No, but it was something they have tried to do in the past. Something that did not work for some reason."

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"Did you do this Rhys?"

"No."

"Are there any more of your kind?"

"I do not know that answer. There may be some who survived the madness."

"Or succumbed to it."

"Yes." Witch nodded and looked back at Rhys, who didn't flinch.

"I would like to weave a web, but I will need some of your blood." She said and gently reached out and took Rhys' wounded hand into hers. Gingerly, Witch lifted back his fingers and examined the slice. The shallow wound had already scabbed closed so Witch looked around for something to reopen it with.

"Allow me my Lady." Rhys said and raised his free hand. With a claw, Rhys dug in and not only reopened the wound, but made it deeper. Blood flowed freely from the cut and Witch made a simple white shield to collect it as it pooled over the edges of Rhys' hand. Witch then called in a small bottle and, as the blood collected, opened it and smeared some of the ointment onto the freely bleeding cut. The blood mixed with the ointment, turning it a gritty pink, and the bleeding stopped. Witch the closed the bottle, vanished it, and then turned her attention to the shield.

About a cup of blood had been collected and Witch nodded approvingly. She used Craft to fold the edges up and onto itself, creating a sealed pocket so the blood would not fall out. As it hung there, Witch relaxed and Jaenelle examined Rhys' hand.

"The blood has natural healing abilities so this is the only ointment that can be used on a wound that hasn't been cleaned, since it has its own sterilizers to take care of infection." Jaenelle explained as she called in a small healer's kit and found a roll of bandage gauze. Rhys didn't particularly care, so as Jaenelle worked, he stared down at Lizaveta.

"Don't worry Rhys," Jaenelle said as she turned and walked to her bedroom. "We'll make sure she's safe." Rhys stayed silent as Jaenelle entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her with a soft click. Rhys then turned and looked down at Lizaveta's sleeping form. Her skin was almost alabaster and her blonde lashes curled delicately against her face. Her siblings both had a darker coloring, but Lizaveta seemed almost translucent. He knew, however, that her eyes were a stronger color of gray, with an almost blue tint, like metal. If she had been born with a lighter Jewel, she could have made a capable Gray Lady.

And she wouldn't be used as a pawn.

Sighing, Rhys leaned his head against Lizaveta's leg, wondering when she would wake up. He had missed her for the past weeks, and being so close to her, with her not saying anything, was maddening.

"Please be okay." Rhys whispered. But that familiar feeling, that light touch against his inner walls, merely curled up and sat, waiting for an inevitable conclusion Rhys couldn't remember.

Stephan

Stephan leaned against the back of his armchair and stared at the wineglass in his raised hand. He was subtly ignoring the woman standing across from him, arms hidden under her heavy cloak.

"I thank you for your gifts Priestess, they were quiet helpful." He finally said and took a sip from his glass.

"There are ways for it to become undone. You must take care, especially with the Traitor. He has the ability to break the charms." The Priestess rasped.

"Can't you just take care of him?" Stephan sighed dismissively. The Priestess made a sound that would have been a snarl but came out gargled.

"Although he is a Traitor, he still has his connections to the Old Way and he has his Jewels still. I would not be able to destroy him, or else I would have." She retorted. This was obviously a subject that bothered her, Stephan noted this and tucked it away for later use.

"So what happens now?" Stephan asked. The Priestess turned away from him, but pushed back her hood. Her hair was graying, a trait that seemed almost impossible if she came from the same bloodline and time as the man she labeled the Traitor.

"The ring has compromised her psychic shields and the longer she wears it, the more permanent the tangled webs in her psyche will get. The powder will put a cap on her Jewels, and if she takes all of it, she will never be able to reach her full potential again.

"What we do now, is weave a spell to submit her will. Right now, she may be a little confused but she still can form her own opinions. We have to poison her mind so that she will willingly submit to you." The Priestess explained. Stephan felt his pulse leap toward the end but quickly veiled his reaction by taking a sip of wine.

"That sounds a little dangerous, as Jaenelle and her Consort are well versed in poisons. Or were you talking about a spell?" He questioned. The Priestess sighed and touched a hand to her cheek before turning, her silver eyes looking thoughtful.

"Unfortunately, a spell would take too long and we need something quick and efficient before either the witch or the Traitor notices what is going on." The Priestess replied.

"I take it you have this poison?" Stephan prompted. The Priestess grinned wildly and reached into the recess of her cloak and pulled out a small, clear vial, holding a sinister green liquid.

"Here." She said and handed the vial to him. Stephan took it, looking at it warily.

"How will I get her to drink this?" He inquired. The Priestess kept grinning, though it took on a much more subtly vicious look.

"I do not know Warlord, but you must do it covertly or else it, and the happenings tonight, may be linked to you." She answered and walked toward the door. Stephan even watched her this time, but as she got closer to the heavy, oaken door, she simply vanished, as if Stephan had blinked. Instead of getting up for the hundredth time and trying to probe the area she always seemed to disappear at, Stephan sighed and set the glass of wine down to give his attention to the small vial. There were plenty of ways to do it, to get the unsuspecting woman to drink the poison. He could go to her and say it was a healing potion he had garnish from an older woman at court, although after the ball, either Daemon or Jaenelle would want to probe it.

He could get a servant to do it, but again, there was the chance of Daemon and Jaenelle checking it. He could use a trusted servant, but the servant could easily turn on him and report him to his masters. And if he tried to kill the servant, they would be even more cautious.

There was another way. But it was incredibly risky. Although, once he had the power that came with a witch's consent, he would be set for life, even after her short lifespan was over.

Andulvar

Pacing with tears in his eyes, Andulvar tried not to lash out at the stone statues in the garden next to the SaDiablo quarters. When his father had told him that Lizaveta had been spelled, Andulvar had immediately thought of Stephan. Neither he nor Luther really liked the Warlord, finding something inherently greasy about him. Only Lizaveta, with her Black Jewel, had believed he was better than he seemed. Only she tried to find some goodness in the cretin and now look what had happened.

And he had been too distracted to look after her.

His night with Alyxandria was nice, wonderful even. He saw her for the first time, not as the little girl he had grown up with, but as a woman he wanted to serve. Ever since childhood, it was assumed that Andulvar, being closer in age to Lizaveta, would serve in her court, if she ever had one. But there was a sweetness to Alyxandria that Lizaveta didn't, not that she was an unkind person, Alyxandria was just different.

And now he wasn't focusing again.

"AHH!" Andulvar screamed and called in his practice stick as he swung, bashing it into a statue's face, reducing the stick to an explosion of splinters. Andulvar threw the piece he had actually been holding and tried to keep his breathing even, restricting the unborn, racking sobs that grew in his chest. He had been distracted by everything that was Alyxandria, and Lizaveta, his closest friend, was harmed.

"I don't think she appreciated that." A cool voice spoke out from behind him. Andulvar whirled around, a thrill of fear igniting a cask of anger inside of him. He quickly snuffed the whole thing and bowed gracefully, as his uncle had taught him.

"I apologize, my Lady, for disturbing you and desecrating your statue." Andulvar said evenly and rose. Gwen just smiled at him and looked over his shoulder, contemplating the cracked face of the statue.

"I do think it's an improvement. I never understood why the chose to portray the last queen as a beautiful woman. She always had a look of soured disgust on her face." Gwen replied. Andulvar shifted, not knowing what to say. Daemonar had been able to glean valuable information out of their uncle's lessons, but not Andulvar.

"Jaenelle has told me that you are under some stress. Both your sister and the young Gray Lady are being guilted into staying with Lizaveta in order to give you your peace." Gwen stated. A mixture of emotions tore through Andulvar's visage, and his wings sagged in defeat.

"She got hurt." He murmured, not trusting his voice to stay steady and be any louder.

"Yes, Jaenelle has informed me of the events that befell Lady Ardelia. This upsets me greatly." Gwen said, anger creeping into her voice.

"She wasn't happy here. If she makes it through this, she won't want to stay." Andulvar said, trying to gauge the Queen's motives. Gwen just sighed and rubbed her temple.

"I know. It was difficult for her mother to send her to me. But a loose Black Queen is dangerous. I have the means to keep her as safe as possible. Especially considering," Gwen drifted and Andulvar stiffened.

"You know she's?" He left off the rest of his sentence, still not wanting to betray Lizaveta after failing her once. Gwen merely nodded and Andulvar's throat tightened.

"I knew when she first arrived. It did frighten me a little, as I could be easily dispatched and replaced. It frightened me more when Gregory said that he actually liked her. But, then I got to know her. I would like to see her join my family. You understand, this means I will go to the ends of the earth to find out who did this to her and have him, corrected." Gwen hissed through her teeth. Andulvar relaxed, as much as one could in the presence of an angry Queen.

"I don't know if Rhys would allow Gregory to even get close to Lizaveta ever again." He remarked, trying to seem jovial. To his relief, the Queen smiled and relaxed.

"Yes, I noticed him." Gwen replied, a smile of familiar mischief playing on her lips. Andulvar could only guess what she was thinking.

"I don't know what to do in this situation. Whoever is doing this must think we wouldn't have noticed and I don't think it would be appropriate to have five, dark Jeweled males riding the killing edge for the remainder of you party." Andulvar stated with an unusual amount of honesty. He was never this forthcoming in his failings to his father, and especially not to a highly ranked female outside of his eyrie.

"I think that our culprit is acting within time constraints so, as painful as it may be, I believe we just have to wait. And I think the dark Jeweled males in question will be reminded that in order to keep Lizaveta safe, they should not act rashly." Gwen replied carefully, keeping the threat subtle but no less dangerous. Andulvar bowed and looked back at the entrances that led to the private quarters.

"Well, I think I will go and attend the lady, if it pleases you." Andulvar said and bowed.

"Go on then. I'm sure Jaenelle could use your help." Gwen said and began to walk back the way she came. Andulvar sighed and leaned against the statue he had defaced, thinking over the awkward conversation he had just gone through. The Queen knew that Lizaveta was a Black Widow, and a lot about the dynamics of her court. She was a very formidable Queen and would become a good ally for Lizaveta, if the need ever arose.

"Coming in then?" His father's gruff voice barked. Andulvar turned and smiled broadly.

"Been there for long?" He retorted.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 4: Second Night of Winsol

Chapter 4: Second Night of Winsol

Lizaveta

As she woke up, Lizaveta had the feeling of an empty husk, dried and hollowed out. She sat up in her bed, putting a hand to her forehead, and looked around. The room was empty save for a few massive bouquets of flowers that were standing solitary on the floor or on some surface or another. She slowly pushed back the blankets and threw her bare legs over the edge of the bed. Her shift had ridden up in the evening, and was damp with old sweat. Blanching, Lizaveta stood on shaky legs, wondering why she was so weak.

She couldn't remember all of the events of the night before and this worried her. Looking at her hands, Lizaveta saw the ornate band of precious jewels and furrowed her brows. She remembered that this was a present from Stephan, and that it wasn't spelled, but didn't know if the weakness had come before or after receiving it.

"Lizzie?" The door opened a crack and the dark haired head of her brother popped in. Lizaveta adjusted her shift and wrapped her arms over her breasts, feeling a little immodest.

"Yes?" She snapped testily. Luther sighed but put a hand over his eyes.

"You're feeling better then?" He inquired.

"Much. Is Jaenelle here?" Lizaveta asked in reply. Luther shook his head, keeping his eyes covered.

"No but Angeline is. I'll send her in." He said. Before Lizaveta could protest, Luther was gone and the door shut swiftly behind him. And before Lizaveta could let out her sigh, the door burst open and Angeline strode in. The Eyrien shut the door using Craft and walked up to Lizaveta. Her Opal Jewel glittered in the dim light, as opals were prone to do, but that unnerved Lizaveta a little.

"How do you feel?" Angelina asked.

"A little weird." Lizaveta replied hesitantly.

**Talk to me like this. Follow me down. **Angelina said over the distaff White thread.

**Why? **Lizaveta replied, over the White.

**Jaenelle noticed something odd. Just follow me down. We'll take this slow.** Angeline replied, this time over the Yellow.

**Should I be worried?**

**Maybe. **Angeline answered honestly, sliding her way down the Tiger Eye. Lizaveta was silent as her throat tightened.

**Can you hear me? **Angeline asked, still over the Tiger Eye. Her face was expressionless and her tone, even on the threads, were calm and sure.

**Yes. **Lizaveta choked out. She felt herself receding and was alarmed by the sudden force of Angeline's psychic presence in her mind.

**Oh sweet Darkness! She has no shields! **The cry of outrage rushed at Lizaveta from the blood Opal, slamming into Lizaveta's raw and exposed inner web. Her Birth Rite Red flared up in response to shield her, but there was no answer from the Black.

When Angeline finally realized what she was doing and pulled away, Lizaveta was reeling on her feet.

"Someone!" Angeline called out and helped Lizaveta to her bed. The door burst open and, much to Lizaveta's surprise, Gregory bolted into the room.

"What's the matter?" He questioned, getting to Lizaveta's side in a matter of moments.

"She has no shields. Her inner web is exposed. Her Red jumped up and rebuked my Opal, but her Black didn't respond." Angeline explained, her tone now losing its strength and warbling a little.

"I had thought this was going to happened. I had prayed that I was wrong." The feminine voice came from the doorway but Lizaveta was too exhausted to turn her head, though she knew who it was.

"Enough Rhys! She's weak." A sharp remark spoke up from beyond the door, and Lizaveta flinched.

"Lizaveta," Jaenelle's voice swam closer and it caused the room to spin. "I need you to answer something for me, and I need you to answer me honestly." Lizaveta shut her eyes against the bucking room just as Jaenelle sat down on the bed at her feet.

"Okay." Lizaveta said through clenched teeth.

"I need you to reach for your Black, slowly. Do you want my help?" Jaenelle said. Lizaveta nodded and felt the lightest brush of a psychic thread swell next to her inner web. Lizaveta reached out with her Red and felt a little relief. She had seen Witch before, had held her hand to descend to the Black during certain fragile lessons, and it was always a comfort to be in the hands of someone so powerful, though Lizaveta could also see how that would be frightening.

"Let us take a trip." Witch said. Lizaveta nodded and felt Witch pull on her a little, tugging her downward.

"We mustn't spiral or else I could lose you to the Twisted Kingdom." Witch, with a little touch of Jaenelle, said.

"I'm scared." Lizaveta finally admitted.

"Don't be. You are a daughter of my heart, I would not let one of my children go to that place." Witch said, her face still stern despite her comments. Lizaveta nodded, but kept her psychic grip on Jaenelle. She had never been to her reservoir of power before, had only seen the tube-like cavern that had her webs stretched across it. So when Witch paused, Lizaveta was almost unnerved not to see them.

"Well." Witch said and alarmed Lizaveta. This was not something she had wanted to here.

"Look child." Witch said, urging Lizaveta forward. Lizaveta peered forward and saw a large basin, a dark liquid sitting still inside of it.

"What is that?" Lizaveta questioned.

"The power of your Black Jewel, or the psychic manifestation of it. There is another of about this size that contains your Red and two smaller ones that hold your own psychic energy in both the Red and the Black. This should be moving, reacting to your psychic presence and reacting to the rest of the world." Witch explained. A sudden terror filled Lizaveta.

"A-am I b-b-broken?" She asked, her lip quivering as she tried to keep herself together. Loosing her hold this close to her own inner web could cause problems.

"No. You are just unable to tap into your Black Jewel. You still have a small reserve that you were given during your Offering. You just cannot harness your Black Jewel." Witch replied. Lizaveta felt her nerves fraying and squeezed Witch's hand.

"I want to go back." She whispered.

"One moment child." Witch said, and then went still. Her face was calm but stern, like she was listening to something. But Lizaveta could sense nothing and the still sheen of the black liquid frightened her. Finally, Witch gathered what she needed and then began to move away from the edge. She pulled Lizaveta upward and soon, she felt herself reaching through the haze of her inner webs and back into the physical world. She jumped a little when she saw a close-up view of Andulvar's face.

"What?" She squawked and sat upright.

"Just checkin'." He replied and backed away. Lizaveta looked around and saw Jaenelle stand to move closer to Daemon. Rhys leaned against the far wall, looking like he was ready to jump out of his skin.

"What's wrong with me?" Lizaveta asked.

"I don't quite know. There is a tangled web of black roots that has compromised your inner shields, leaving your inner web exposed. There is also a cap on your Black Jewel. It doesn't feel permanent, but I could be wrong. It feels like it could become something much more sinister. And as much as some of us would like to blame Lord Tremont for this, event, Prince Gregory is just as suspicious and I have found no trace of anything malicious on the gift he gave her." Jaenelle explained. Fighting the urge to look over at Gregory, Lizaveta instead turned the band on her finger and stared at the rotating gems.

"Excuse me." A lilt voice spoke up from the doorway. Seven pairs of eyes turned and the small serving girl wilted under the stare.

"There's a Lord Tremont here to see the Lady." The young woman stammered.

"I'll see him in a moment. See him into the entrance room and get him a refreshment." Lizaveta said. The woman curtsied and backed away as quickly as protocol allowed. When she was gone, the others immediately turned on Lizaveta.

"You're going to see him after this?" Andulvar exploded. Lizaveta gave him a dark glare but said nothing.

"I agree, I do not think this is wise." Rhys growled from his position against the wall. Lizaveta turned her stare on him and narrowed it.

"I don't think this is any of your business." Lizaveta retorted. Rhys snarled. Lizaveta snarled back.

"Lizaveta." Jaenelle's voice was commanding and Lizaveta turned, a little shamed at her behavior.

"Do you want to see him?" She questioned. Lizaveta hesitated to think over her answer.

"Yes." She said evenly. Jaenelle nodded and took Daemon's arm.

"Then escort us out and you can have your day with him. But bring Andulvar with you, seeing as how you are still ill." Jaenelle replied. Lizaveta bowed her head in response.

"Of course Jaenelle." She murmured.

Stephan

Seeing Jaenelle and Daemon walk out of Lizaveta's bedroom made Stephan's pulse leap in his body. Still, he controlled his features as he bowed when they walked by. Luther had already started making him uncomfortable as soon as he walked in, making Stephan wonder if they had any idea. But here was the Ebony Witch, if she snubbed him, he would know something was wrong.

"Good day Lord Tremont. Do take care of Lizaveta, she still isn't feeling well." Jaenelle said and smiled at him warmly. Stephan relaxed and returned her smile.

"Of course my Lady." He said and bowed again. After them trailed an Eyrien woman, walking a little too briskly to be seen as relaxed. She turned for a moment and snarled at the man behind her.

"Come on Rhys." She snapped. Stephan looked on in silence as the wild man the Priestess called Traitor walked by. His hands were hidden in his pockets and he didn't look at Stephan as he passed, but with his hay-colored hair pulled back, Stephan could see the sharp cut of his face. There was a feral familiarity between him and the Priestess. Stephan shivered in the wake of the Traitor and turned to see more people walk out of Lizaveta's bedroom. The Eyrien male known as Andulvar walked out in front of Gregory and Lizaveta, she being draped daintily over his arm. She looked a little paler, something Stephan had thought would be unlikely, and her face was a little drawn.

"I will see you for dinner then?" Gregory said. Lizaveta pulled away and patted Gregory's hand before stepping away.

"Of course. I may take a nap so please, send me a little notice before dropping in on me." She replied. Gregory smiled, bowed, and snatched her hand back to place a light kiss on it before skittering away to avoid her swat. Stephan's blood boiled and he was tempted to trip the Prince as the man walked by.

"Tremont." Greogry said tersely as he passed.

"Your Highness." Stephan said graciously and bowed in an exaggerated fashion.

"Snarly males." Lizaveta sighed after Gregory had disappeared.

"Well we snarly males do raise our hackles when a Lady suddenly falls ill and we have no idea what ails her." Stephan replied as he turned to her.

"So I see." Lizaveta said with a smile and sat down on one of the lush lounges in the room. Stephan sat across from her, finally looking at the small platter the serving girl had brought in earlier.

"Would you like some tea?" Stephan asked, gesturing to the small teapot that steamed from the platter.

"Did you really come here to serve me tea? I had no idea men would go to such lengths to fuss." Lizaveta quipped. Stephan smiled, genuinely enjoying her wit.

"Actually, I heard that fresh air does wonders for any sickness. I wanted to see if you would take a light walk with me around the rose gardens." Stephan said.

"Absolutely not." Andulvar hissed. Both Stephan and Lizaveta turned and found him standing in the nearest corner with Luther.

"My, I hadn't realized you could throw your voice Lizaveta. That was a marvelous trick." Stephan said and looked back the Lizaveta, who rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I would love to. But, unfortunately, I think we will be followed by both the snarling one and the sulking one." She said.

"As long as I am in your company, I think that will be fine." Stephan replied.

"Are you alright Lizaveta?" Stephan inquired. He, as promised, had kept the walk light, and Lizaveta had managed to keep her brother and the Eyrien at some distance. Still, as they made their way through the garden, Lizaveta became flushed and a little dizzy. They came to a small fountain and Stephan offered that they sit and relax a while.

"Just feeling a little dizzy." She answered as she perched herself on the edge of the fountain.

"I'll go get a tonic from Jaenelle." Luther offered and scurried away before she could refuse.

"Uh. I love Jaenelle but if I have to drink another tonic, I think I'll just stay in bed from here on after." Lizaveta muttered. Stephan chuckled and pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket.

"Here, drink this. It's my own specialty that gets me through some of the more tedious meetings I have to go through." He said. As Lizaveta took it and unscrewed the top, Andulvar jumped forward, ready to knock the thing out of her hands.

"Did you even probe it?" He demanded. Lizaveta glared at him, a blush deepening her already flushed face.

"Oh shut it Andulvar. It's fine. I'm sure Stephan would love to poison me right in front of a raging Eyrien male." She snapped. Out of defiance, she knocked back the flask and drank its contents, handing the emptied container back to Stephan. When she realized what she did, she looked at Stephan apologetically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Stephan! I drank it all. Sometimes I can be so childish." She said. Stephan smiled and replaced the flask back into his jacket pocket.

"Nonsense. It was a tonic I had made up for you especially. I was wondering how I was going to get you to drink it all." Stephan replied. As he talked, he kept his hand in his pocket and vanished the flask, calling in an identical one that held the dregs of a tonic he had made, and poured out, hours earlier.

"Sneaky, sneaky." Lizaveta muttered. After she spoke, her face changed and Lizaveta seemed to be in the throes of mild discomfort.

"Lizzie? Are you okay?" Andulvar reached forward and put his hand to her forehead.

"She looks fevered." Stephan said.

"What was in that tonic?" Andulvar snapped, turning on him.

"Nothing unusual." Stephan sputtered, looking back at Lizaveta. She had closed her eyes and beads of sweat started appearing on her skin.

"Go. Get. Jaenelle." She hissed through clenched teeth. Andulvar gritted his teeth and looked back at Stephan.

"Keep her here. If she's any worse or gone when I get back, I will kill you, no questions asked." He threatened and then dashed off, running back the same way Luther had gone.

"Are. You. Trying. To. Kill. Me. Stephan?" Lizaveta asked.

"No. If I could have my way, I would keep you with me forever Lizaveta." Stephan answered honestly. Lizaveta smiled and leaned on him, tucking her head into the space where his neck met his shoulders.

"I. Thought. So." She said and tried to steady her breathing. Stephan held her with one arm and stroked her hair with his free hand.

"Why does this always happen when you're with me? Can't you faint when you're with Gregory? Then I could have you all to myself and not have your bodyguards think I'm trying to harm you." He said. Lizaveta coughed out a small laugh.

"I. Would. Rather. Not. Faint. At. All." The last word was forced out in a short breath and Stephan shushed her.

"Just relax right now Lizaveta. I'm sure your brother is on his way back with reinforcements who are going to shove me off and steal you away." Stephan said. Lizaveta made no reply and Stephan covertly checked to see if her breathing was still steady and strong. She was most likely asleep.

Stephan was worried. He had mixed the day's dosage of powder in with the liquid spell. He had wondered if that would damage Lizaveta but it only seemed to be having the same effect as yesterday, which was worse on Lizaveta's already weakened body. Now he had no idea what came next.

"Don't you want to be with me Lizaveta?" He asked absently as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"Of course Stephan. Forever and for always." Lizaveta murmured. Stephan smiled, twisting a lock of her hair over his finger.

"Then be with me Lizaveta. Only I can make you feel better. Everyone else is just in the way." He whispered.

"I will not be separated from you." Lizaveta said forcibly, strange for her exhausted state.

"No, no you won't."


End file.
